


Something so flawed and free

by Akira14



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Gen, M/M, ace!Elia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-12 21:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17475026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akira14/pseuds/Akira14
Summary: So, this is probably gonna be my last collection of ficlets. Title from "Movement" by Hozier.Chapter 1 - Gio's POV (post 10.1 chat on Whatsapp - ENG)Chapter 2 -  See above (ITA)Chapter 3 -  How students react to the news about Maturità 2019 in 5B (ENG)Chapter 4  - See above (ITA)Chapter 5 -  Elia's POV (10.4 clip - ITA)Chapter 6 -  See above (ENG)Chapter 7 - Niccolò has planned something special for S. Valentine's Day...Chapter 8 -  The boys squad being beside Nico during the bad daysChapter 9 -  The boy squad, the girl squad and the boys from Villa all get together for the event of the year: Niccolò's birthday :) !





	1. And I owe it all to... Chicco Rodi?

He’s happy for those two. He really is!

Martino last update on IG had him smiling like an idiot, looking so fondly at his screen that his little brother has teased him about it, sure that he’s just got a text from that red-haired girl he was seeing a couple of months ago.

They both deserve to get to be so fucking cheesy, to finally enjoy some peace and quiet in the comfort of Marti’s home.

Still, he’s almost tempted to send his best friend a ‘screw you, I’m not coming tonight!’ when he reads _that_ message.

Martino owes everything to whom, exactly? To the one and only Giovanni Garau, wizard of love, thank you very much.

What’s this Chicco Rodi bullshit? Where was Chicco Rodi when he didn’t know how to answer Nico’s text in Bracciano? Who left on their own will in the middle of the night, slept on the hard cold floor and told Martino to go look for Niccolò on Friday?

Not Chicco Rodi.

He doesn’t, because it’s much better to tell him face to face.

Besides, he is quite intrigued by this turn of events. Why did Martino have to break into their school at night?

What was Niccolò doing there? 

Had they talked about what happened in Milan? Had they apologized for the pain they put each other through?

He **needs** to know!

He will find the right opportunity to remind Martino where he’d be without him while they are watching the match, for sure.

                                   ************************************

It all seems to stupid, now.

Giovanni didn’t dish out his advice to get a pat on the back or some kind of recognition. He did it because he loves Marti, his brother from another mother, and he cannot see him heartbroken. Cannot leave it be, if there’s anything he can to help.

His reward is having this carefree, grinning, Martino who can’t sit still on the sofa and has to be all vague about what happened since Friday night, just to keep them on their toes.

It’s nice to tease Martino, to tell him that he’s actually the one who can’t shut up about it and no, they don’t want details on how he spent his weekend with his boyfriend - yes, they are boyfriends now! Halle-fucking-lujah!!

Both him and Elia put an arm around his shoulders. Elia lightly pinches his cheek, like a proud grandma and Gio ruffles his hair, pestering Martino until he has to get up from the couch and get away.

“Alright. That’s great to hear, bro, but there’s still something I gotta ask...” Luchino says, when he gets back from the kitchen with more beer. 

“Shoot. I’m not answering questions about what we did after we brushed our teeth, though.” 

_Smart move, zì.  Give him some boundaries._

“Did you tell him: ‘if you jump, I jump’ ? Did you stand behind him and yell ‘I’m the king of the world!!’ for all the city to hear? ‘cause if you didn’t, well, it’s a shame and I think Chicco’s tutorial was a bit wasted on you two...”  It clearly pains him to be so harsh with Niccolò, and he looks so serious that he has Elia rolling his eyes and Giovanni smirking.

Martino’s face, on the other hand, is completely blank. Like he doesn’t even know how is he supposed to react.

“What? No! What’s with the references to Titanic, anyway, Luchì? Have you been talking to Filippo, or something?”

Who’s this ‘Filippo’, by the way?

“So you’ve been hanging out with Eleonora’s brother behind our backs, huh?” Elia cuts in, a bit affronted about Martino turning to strangers like that dude or the celery eating weirdo - who turned out to be quite cool, to be honest - who works in the basement, instead of talking to his friends.

It does sting, Giovanni has got to admit. It does make what you did to make Martino so afraid of opening up to the people closest to him.

He doesn’t dwell on it for long, though. What matters is that Martino found **someone** who could help him back then, that he’s aware he’s got **them** now.

‘Did you know something about this?’ He asks Gio, with an eloquent look. 

‘No, I didn’t.’ He answers, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Where did the two of you meet?” 

Hey.... Hey, hey, hey. Stop. Rewind. 

How did Elia guess that Martino was talking about Filippo Sava?

Why does he sound so interested in this guy?

Is Giovanni missing something, here?

Probably, yeah... But what?


	2. Devo tutto a... Chicco Rodi?

Non è che non sia felice per quei due.  
Cazzo zì, certo che lo è, ma scherziamo?

Cioè, quando ha visto l'ultimo post di quel deficiente del suo migliore amico - che deve sempre stare a farlo preoccupa', l'infame - c'avuto tipo un sorriso stampato in faccia per parecchi minuti. Roba che manco i messaggi più teneri di Eva, tra un po'... Non c'è da stupirsi che pure suo fratello se ne sia accorto e gli abbia chiesto se per caso si fosse rimesso in contatto con la roscia. Seh... Magari.

Comunque. Quei due si meritano di essere disgustosamente felici, di far salire la glicemia e far venire la carie a tutti da quanto son sdolcinati.  
Di riportare un po' di pace e serenità nelle loro vite, di rallegrare un po' quell'antro della disperazione che è ormai diventato casa di Martino.

Ciò nonostante, è a tanto così da mandare un _'Attaccati al cazzo, Marti, io la partita me la guardo a casa.'_ quando vede _quel_ messaggio.  
Deve tutto a chi esattamente? A Giovanni Mago Dell'Amore Garau, grazie tante.  
Che cazzo è sta storia di Chicco Rodi? Dov'era Chicco Rodi quando non sapeva mettere insieme due parole per rispondere, a Bracciano?  
Chi se n'è andato di sua spontanea volontà dalla _propria_ casa, ha dormito all'addiaccio sul pavimento, e ha detto a Martino di andare a cercare Niccolò solo l'altro ieri?  
Non Chicco Rodi.

Non lo manda, ovvio, perché certe cose è meglio dirsele faccia a faccia.  
Tra l'altro, anche se non lo ammetterebbe mai, è piuttosto curioso di sapere un paio di cose: 1. perché Marti è dovuto entrare a scuola a quell'ora, 2. cosa cazzo ci faceva Niccolò lì, 3. se hanno parlato o no di quello che è successo a Milano e si sono scusati per essersi fatti tutto quel male a vicenda.

 _Deve_ sapere.  
E troverà il momento perfetto per ricordare a Martino dove sarebbe senza di lui, nell'intervallo tra il primo ed il secondo tempo.  
Sicuro.

                                   ************************************

Quasi si vergogna, ma che stava a pensà?

Non è che Giovanni dispensi i suoi consigli per avere una pacca sulle spalle o per guadagnarci qualcosa dalla gratitudine dei suoi amici. Manco gli interessa se effettivamente si rendono conto di quanto gli devono... Lui ha aiutato Marti perché gli vuole bene, perché è come un fratello, e non sopporta di vederlo soffrire come un cane se c'è qualcosa che può fare per evitarlo. 

Non può che farsi contagiare dall'allegria di questo nuovo Martino, che non riesce a stare fermo sul divano tanto è su di giri, che si diverte a fare il vago su quanto accaduto venerdì sera giusto per tenerli sulla corda. 

È fantastico poter prendere di nuovo in giro Martino, fargli presente che è lui quello che non la pianta di tornare sempre a quella sera e che loro son venuti solo per la partita e mica gli interessa sapere come abbia trascorso il weekend con il suo ragazzo - sì, si sono sono finalmente messi assieme, daje!!. 

Lui ed Elia mettono entrambi un braccio intorno alle sue spalle, pronti a rincarare la dose. Elia gli pizzica la guancia, come farebbe una nonna tanto orgogliosa del proprio adorabile nipotino, e Gio si mette a scompigliargli i capelli. Continuano a stuzzicarlo finché non ne può più, e si alza dal divano per sfuggire al loro assalto. 

  


“Fantastico, fraté. Solo a sentì 'sta storia me so mezzo innamorato de te pure io, ma ce sta 'na cosa che proprio te devo chiedere..." Luchino non può fare a meno di dire, una volta che Martino torna dalla cucina con un paio di birre da stappare. 

  


“Spara. Già te dico che non rispondo se me chiedi che abbiamo fatto dopo esserci lavati i denti, però." 

_Mossa astuta, zì.  Meglio mettere dei paletti alla curiosità di Luchetto._

“Gli hai detto ‘salti tu, salto io’ ? Ve siete messi sulla balconata urlando 'SONO IL RE DEL MONDO'!' per farvi sentire da tutta Roma? Perché se non l'avete fatto, scusa se te lo dico, il tutorial de Chicco è un po' sprecato per voi due..." Non è facile per lui essere così severo con Niccolò, glielo si legge in faccia. E sta dicendo quelle stronzate con tanta serietà che Giovanni non può fare a meno di sghignazzare ed Elia di alzare gli occhi al cielo.

Martino, pace all'anima sua, non sa nemmeno come reagire.

“Coooosa? No! Ma che c'avete tutti quanti co' ste citazioni der Titanic? Hai per caso parlato con Filippo pure te?”

Ed ora chi cazzo sarebbe 'sto ‘Filippo', scusa?

  


“Hai fatto amicizia pure col fratello di Eleonora, alle nostre spalle, eh Marti?” Lo anticipa Elia, che pare alquanto risentito che Martino sia andato a chiedere consiglio a perfetti sconosciuti - non solo Sava, ma pure il tipo strano che mangia il sedano sotto le scale... che poi s'è rivelato non essere così male, ma non è questo il punto - invece di parlare coi propri amici. 

Brucia parecchio, Giovanni deve ammetterlo. Gli fa chiedere cosa ha fatto di tanto tremendo da far pensare a Martino che chissà che sarebbe successo se gli avesse detto che gli piaceva un ragazzo. Forse tutto quel parlare soltanto di fregna o di fumo? Che se non t'interessa la fregna ed il ragazzo con cui stai è meglio se non fuma - sì, ha fatto pure lui le sue ricerche - sei tagliato fuori?

Non sta a pensarci troppo, comunque. L'importante è che Martino abbiamo trovato _qualcuno_ che lo potesse aiutare allora e che sappia che ora ci sono _loro_ a coprirgli le spalle.

  


‘Ne sapevi qualcosa, te?’ Elia gli chiede, con uno sguardo eloquente 

  


‘No, zì, zero.’ Risponde, scrollando le spalle.

  


“Quand'è che ve sareste incontrati, voi due?” 

  


Ehi... Ehi, ehi, ehi. Stop. Da dove esce tutta 'sta smania de sapé chi è Filippo Sava, Elia? 

Com'è che te sei reso conto subito che Marti stava a parlà proprio di lui?

Giovanni sa che gli sta sfuggendo qualcosa, qui.

Sì... Ma cosa?


	3. It's oh so quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of the drabble that I posted earlier today.  
> For those who don’t know, yesterday people in 5th year of Classico got the news that this year:
> 
> 1) they are going to translate BOTH from Latin and Greek (up to now it’s been one year from Greek and the following year from Latin)  
> 2) there is not going to be a short dissertation (tesina) anymore but students will have to choose from three envelopes (???? everyone is just as confused as you are???) that are going to have prompts for discussion for the different subjects  
> 3) Long story short: maturità has changed yet again, quite massively, this year and Edo / Nico / Fede are going to be the first to experience it. Good luck guys!

Booming laughs. Nervous laughs.  
Shiny eyes, of students on the brink of tears, staring at teachers and waiting for reassurance.  
Hiccups. Hushed crying.

People yelling “WHY DID THEY DO THIS?” “WHY US?”, “WHY DO YOU WANT US TO FAIL SO BAD?”  
And then, suddenly, reality hits and it all goes quiet again.

Nobody was ready for such a news.  
Nobody could be.  
You know damn well that there’s no point in panicking or despairing, but it’s not that easy to calm down.

You keep telling yourself “Breath in. Breath out. Nice and easy, Niccolò. As soon as you’ll relax your palms will stop sweating, the pin and needles will be gone and you’ll be able to actually focus on what is going on around you” until it works, eventually, but it leaves exhausted. You just want to go home. Pay for this fucking diploma and be done with high school.

You had it all planned, for fuck’s sake.  
You could already picture yourself discussing your dissertation in front of Martino - well, actually it would have been with Marti sitting in the back of the classroom and him and teachers in front of you… details you couldn’t be bothered to take into consideration, really - and he would have been so proud of you… 

And now it’s all gone.  
There’s some small comfort in seeing you are not the only one taking the news so hard, though. It is not just your brain being overdramatic.  
Even Incanti looks like he’s about to faint, and usually he’s got that “I don’t even know what I’m doing here, I already know all this shit” attitude that nearly everyone seems to fall for. Not you, of course. Takes one to know one and all that jazz.  
You are so apt at playing the part of a seemingly well adjusted student that you can see when somebody else is trying too hard. 

Canegallo has been staring at the ground, wishing it would swallow him whole, ever since they got the news.

“Hey, hey… We’re all going to pass. We wouldn’t want to be the laughing stock of some people from 4th year, now, would we?” Edoardo says, regaining his composure as he tries to snap his friend out of his self-deprecating mood.

There something in the way he says it, in the way he briefly looks at you when he does… He’s talking about you as well, you’re sure of it.  
You can’t tell why he feels the need to include you as well - he does seem to have noticed your existance only since Covitti started being nastier than usual - but you appreciate it.  
Not that Martino would ever laugh about this, anyway. He would probably shoulder all your anxiety, make it his problem, and that’s why you better keep it to yourself.  
All you’ve got to do is study more, that’s all. Hire a tutor, if that’s what it takes.

Use your charm to persuade teachers that it’d nice to know what kind of questions are inside those envelopes beforehand… 

“I’m counting on you too, Fares. I’m sure Rametta will understand that you gotta play your part for the greater good.” 

“I’ll see what I can do, Incanti.” You tell Edoardo, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively as you smile back at him. “But I’ll leave Mrs Costanzo to you.”


	4. ... e poi, silenzio.

_Mai, mai, scorderai l’attimo... La terrà che tremò._  
 _L’aria s’incendiò... e poi, silenzio._  
  
Un boato di dissensi. Risate isteriche. Risate sguaiate.   
Discussioni concitate e confuse. Poi, d’improvviso, il peso della realtà che scende su di loro e li zittisce.  
C’è poco da parlarne, poco da piangerci su o farsi prendere dal panico.  
  
Non è facile. Niccolò già aveva quasi deciso l’argomento della tesina, già s’immaginava all'orale ad esporla davanti ad un Martino che fino all'ultimo aveva tenuto all'oscuro di tutto. Sì, be’, in realtà Martino sarebbe stato alle sue spalle e di fronte avrebbe avuto la commissione... Dettagli.   
  
Tutte le certezze, ora, sono crollate.  
Canegallo ancora osserva sconsolato il pavimento, sperando di farsi inghiottire.  
Incanti, come sempre, ha l’aria di quello che avrebbe di meglio da fare che essere lì a scuola ad imparare cose che già sa... Ma Niccolò sa fin troppo bene che non ci si può fidare di quello che una persona dà a vedere, che è molto probabile che sia scosso quanto il resto dei suoi compagni.  
  
“Ehi, ehi. Tranquillo. Passeremo tutti. Non vorremmo mica farci ridere dietro da certa gente del quarto...” Edoardo rassicura il suo amico, ma c’è qualcosa nel suo sguardo che fa intendere che le sue parole non includono soltanto lui e Federico.   
  
Non che Marti riderebbe mai di lui, anzi. Probabile che si faccia carico pure della sua ansia, quindi sarà meglio non darla troppo a vedere.   
Basterà mettersi a studiare sul serio. Prendere ripetizioni, se necessario.  
Contemplare di usare il proprio fascino per aver qualche dritta su quello che ci sarà all’interno delle buste all’orale - come già suggerisce di fare Edoardo, buttandogli un inaspettato “Ehi, contiamo che anche tu faccia la tua parte, Fares. Sono sicuro che Rametta capirà.”  
  
“Vedrò che posso fa’, Incanti.” Ribatte, sorridendogli. “Ma alla Costanzo ce pensi te.”   



	5. Priorità

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Entusiasmo" per la Maritombola del Decennale.

È ‘no scandalo, zì.  
Uno non se po’ voltà due secondi che perde l’occasione per parlà co’ Marti. O per fà du chiacchiere con Niccolò. Conoscerlo meglio, tipo.  
Non che ce se debba fà chissà quali discorsi, ma... Un po’ fastidio lo dà, no?

Che ‘sti due pomicioni stiano sempre appiccicati, manco morissero se non se baciano un tot di volte all’ora.  
Che poi magari tu stai pure ad esagerà, perché stiamo a mercoledì e ‘sti due non se vedono da ‘na vita - domenica, cioè!! - e quindi ce sta anche che Marti l’abbia aspettato davanti a scuola - salutandovi a malapena - e che sia scomparso durante l’intervallo... E pure che da quando avete iniziato a giocà se siano sporti per darsi smielati bacetti almeno una ventina di volte.

Okay l’entusiasmo, ma non è che adesso la priorità dell’amico tuo deve diventà paccarsi Nico.  
Non l’hai capito quando Gio stava con Eva, e non t’è chiaro nemmeno adesso. Cioè, sia Eva che Niccolò c’hanno il loro fascino - ma te non sei Luchino e non lo vai certo a dì a Marti e Gio - ma ‘sta continua necessità di avere un contatto fisico è strana forte, no?

O magari sei strano te, che quando se tratta de parlà fai lo spaccone ma che se pure c’avessi l’Argentina nel tuo letto non sapresti che ce dovresti fà con lei.  
Finché se tratta di che ce faresti nelle fantasie tue, okay, ma finora nel concreto so’ sempre le donne che prendono l’iniziativa... E dall'esperienza che hai avuto, puoi solo dire “Tutto qui?”  
Pure quando ti è capitato che ce stessero delle fregne da paura... 

Bello. Piacevole.  
Ma te già metti le mani avanti a dì che ‘na scopata non la preferisci certo a passà la serata con Gio, Luchino e Marti. Ma non te pare mica che per quest’ultimo sia lo stesso.  
Già te lo vedi che piscerà tutte le feste se Niccolò je dice “Amò, stasera se scopa”  
Fanno tutti così. È normale.

Magari devi solo trovà la persona giusta?  
La tua Eva o il tuo Niccolò?

Può darsi. Oppure no.  
Potresti stà qui ad interrogarti per ore, e non ne verresti a capo. Lo sai.  
Va a casa, beviti ‘na birra e fumate ‘na canna. Studia per non farte rompere er cazzo dai tuoi - ‘qualcosa di più della media del 6, Elì! Non puoi essere un po’ più come Giovanni e Martino, che non portano a casa mai niente sotto il 7?’ - e dimentica il resto.

Troverai le risposte crescendo, no?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non credo affatto che il mio headcanon su Elia possa diventare realtà (guardate già solo Sex Education e capirete qual è l’andazzo su essere ace ed adolescenti…), però… Le fanfic esistono anche per questo, no?


	6. Priorities

  
It’s fucking< scandalous, bro. You know you sound bitter, childlish and quite stupid… so you keep to yourself, because you’re not Luchino – well, he can be outright offensive sometimes, but you’re all quite fond of his bluntness, of his complete lack of malice – but you can’t help be slightly annoyed by those two.  
They are all over each other. All the time. Before school, during recess and after school as well.   


You can’t turn away for a second, while you’re talking to either Marti or Niccolò… You learnt it by now: you can bet that that when you get back to them, you’ll find out that you missed your chance to have a chat, ‘cause making out \-  which soon turns to blatant dry humping and while you’re glad they feel safe enough to be so shameless around you… can’t they, like, get a room? – must be far more interesting that whatever you wanted to discuss.  
Which is true, of course. It’s never a matter of life or death, and you are aware that if you had something truly meaningful and, like, _deep_ to share… then they’d there for you, giving you their full attention and useless advice.  
  
It’s just that… You don’t understand.  
How hard can it be not to kiss one another for a couple of hours?  
Getting laid is quite fun, yeah, but it shouldn’t be Martino’s top priority.  
You get that Niccolò is hot – you do have eyes – but… Why are still so enthusiastic, as though they have yet to discover how great their lover looks naked on their bed or what makes the other tick?  
This constant need to be reassured that they’re still into you… It’s absurd and quite maddening, isn’t it?  
Haven’t they learnt anything from Gio and Eva? He has hardly looked past how fucking stunning her body was and where did it got him?  
They are so weird…  
  
Or maybe it’s you; you’re the weird one.  
You talk big, but you wouldn’t know what to do even if you had the Argentinian waiting for you to make a move.  
It’s one thing to picture what you’d to her – or to a dozen of other beautiful girls and gorgeous boys – in your dreams… but when it comes to the real world, well… You’ve noticed, by now, that you always let women make the first move.  
That you find it hard to reciprocate, even when you’ve got some hot stuff wanting to get into your pants… and that you wake up, every time, thinking _‘okay, that was nice but… there **must** be more to it, I must not be doing it right.’ _

It is supposed to be mind-blowing, but it isn’t.  
You’re supposed to prefer having sex over spending time with your friends, showing off your skills as a football and FIFA player or daring them to drink until they pass out… but you don’t.  
You can’t say quite the same for Martino, now, can you?  
You will hardly see him at any party, when he’s got Niccolò naked and willing in his bed.  
Put yourself in Martino’s shoes, Elia… Wouldn’t you stay in?  
  
No, you wouldn’t.  
Anyone else would - that’s normal - but not you.  
  
Maybe you just gotta find the right person?  
Your Eva or your Niccolò?  
  
Maybe. Or maybe not.  
You could stay awake for weeks and keeping digging for an answer… But you won’t find it.  
Go home, have a beer. Smoke some weed – never again you’re gonna share with those ungrateful fuckers who end up flushing it down their toilets, thank you very much – and then do your homework. Ain’t you tired of having both mom and dad breathing down your neck because you hang out with two of the brightest students in your class but it doesn’t show?  
That’s what you should care about.  
  
Everything else can wait.  
You’ll find that answer as you grow... Won’t you?


	7. Follow the red thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I noticed there are already some fics that did justice to what Niccolò must have planned for today, but I felt like contributing as well with this silly thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: red thread/red string (filo rosso) for M3 of COWT9

The 14th of February doesn’t mean anything to him. Never has.  
It’s stupid to choose one particular day of the year to celebrate love, when maybe you neglect your significant other for the rest of the year, isn’t it?  
He kind of hates it, even more so when his mother’s smile turns sour as soon as she realizes that she’s gonna spend her first St. Valentine’s Day alone.

Having Niccolò hasn’t changed that, so he shouldn’t have been disappointed when no red rose turns up neither on nor under his desk, unlike some of his classmates.   
Shouldn’t frown at the text saying that his boyfriend will be busy studying until late. They had discussed this, they had come to an agreement that it would be better to get everything done during the week so that they could fully enjoy their Saturdays and Sundays together. Even if it meant seeing  
each other only at school from Monday to Friday.  _‘It’s a Thursday like any other. Get a grip, Martino.’_  He tells himself, frowning when he gets a notification about a new follower on Instagram.  
Is it yet another girl who wants to be his ‘fag hag’? Or some marketing account that has a special offer for this SO NOT SPECIAL THURSDAY?

**_‘Follow_the_red_thread’_** _started following you_

He smiles as he clicks on the avatar - a red thread that leads to a yarn heart- not even questioning how Niccolò got hold of a smartphone to set this up.  
What does he have in store for him, this time? Silly videos with obscure references to ‘The Last Man On Earth’ ? Clues on where to find him?  
Well... There’s only one photo, for now, and it’s a copy of Stefano Benni’s  
‘Ballate’. The caption says ‘ _I’m open book to you, now <3.’ _and the hashtags instruct him to look into his bag.

‘ _When did he put it in here_?’ How can he have failed to notice that, once again?

He goes straight to page 36, where he comes across another string of red thread that holds together two tickets for the Bioparco. So Niccolò is there, right?  
There’s a new photo on the account, now, though. A bike, locked on the gate of what looks like his own apartment building.

The caption says ‘ _We’ll go there together, soon. Today I’m taking you for a ride somewhere else.’_ He dashes down the stairs, hoping to see Niccolò sitting  


It takes him less than ten minutes to get there, and there’s a ticket under his name waiting for him at the desk, but his boyfriend is nowhere to be seen.  
**Follow_the_red_thread,** in the meantime, has uploaded another pic to its gallery.  
‘ _Looks like this pensive lady has a gift_  
for you.’  A red flipbook has been left by her feet, and it’s a wonder that it still there when  
Martino finally locates the statue of Muse Polyhymnia.

He curses under his breath, as he sees a stick man riding a bike and another one showing up from around the corner as soon as he is gone. There’s no heat in his words, though, and he can’t fight the fond smile that find its way on his lips as the story unfolds under his eyes.  
The stick man’s got something in his hand - could be a brush but, since he then starts drawing on the ground, it’s probably chalk. 

On the last page, however, the stick man leaves without revealing what he has drawn. There’s a short red yarn string - glued in the shape of a heart - and a quote underneath, instead.

_‘The heart always finds its way home.’_ It says. Indeed it does; Martino knows where to go,and yet he double checks on Instagram for the latest  
clue. Just to be sure. A close up on a piece of red chalk. No caption. No hashtags. Looks like he will have to cycle back to find out what that is about.  


By the time he gets back, the drawing of their hands is all smudged and the red string that was supposed to connect their pinkies is gone - probably someone picked it up and threw it away, because they can’t let others have nice things, can they? - but thankfully Niccolò has just sent him a picture of how it looked straight after he finished working on it.  
He must be spying on him from the window, to upload the photo with such flawless timing but, when he looks up, there’s no one there.  
  
‘ _The red string of fate can get tangled, can get so thin and torn that you can barely see it anymore, but it can never break.’_ He wrote, as a caption. As soon as Martino is done reading that, he notices that there are now six photos in **Follow_the_red_thread** ’s gallery.  
  
‘ _Hurry up, the show is about to start.’_ Niccolò tells him. Hashtags ‘#nowlistenandshiver and #thisoneisforyou.’  


Martino runs up to his flat so fast that he can barely breathe, when he gets to his front door. He has to lean on it, while he frantically looks for his keys, and that’s when he sees it. A red notebook, wrapped with a red string. He picks it up, cuts the string with the sharpest key he’s got and... What’s this?  
  
~~_‘You are not alone, you hear me?’_~~  
~~_‘Never alone.’_~~  
~~_‘A ballad for my love’_~~  
~~_‘I suck at titles, I give up.’_~~  
  
The first page of the score is a mess, scribblings and faint erasure marks everywhere. Giovanni would probably be able to hum the tune, if he saw this; he always had the highest marks in Music and retained some of that knowledge to learn how to the play the guitar, but Martino is at loss.   
He doesn’t know what to expect. Can’t even imagine how _that_ will sound.  
  
As he opens the door, he spots a note dangling from the lamp beside it.  
_‘This is your ticket. Now tie the string to your little finger, and follow it. It will lead you the most exclusive venue.’_  
Which, of course, turns out to be his own bedroom.  
Niccolò is sitting there, with a loose red string tied to his little finger as well and a keyboard on his lap.  
  
“Now listen and shiver, Marti. This one is for you.”   
  
It’s a soft, yearning, piece. He feels it in his bones, singing how blessed Niccolò believes to be for having him in his life. How grateful he is for Martino’s patience, his support, his love.  
Not only he’s got goosebumps, but he got teary eyed too. Great.  
  
“Well, that wasn’t too bad.” Marti sniffles, joining him on the bed. He snatches the keyboard from his hands, tossing it on the floor, so that he can put his legs around Nico’s waist and drag him into a passionate kiss.  
  
“Not too bad, huh? So you you did like it...” Niccolò grins, wiggling, when they part.  
  
“Just let me show you how much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Crucios for letting me use their hc about Nico composing a piece for Marti as a present <3! I imagine Ni’s piece to sound similar to Einaudi’s [**Time Lapse.**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJcv18IyvKM)


	8. Il tuo amico, il tuo nemico, tu: la stessa persona.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got two requests on Tumblr, one was: "Can you write something about Niccoli being depressed/ having an episode and boys trying to make him feel better?" and the other was quite similar (The boys squad being beside Nico during the bad days) and after MONTHS, I finally got down to write it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Pioggia/Sereno" (COWT9)

He doesn't even know how it started.  
Well, he has been feeling low for a couple of days could barely get out of bed to eat something and shower but... It has happened before, and it has always helped to have Martino with him. Not lately.

Usually he blames the weather - it's worse when outside it's all dark and rainy - but he can't even have that, now. There isn't a cloud in the sky, as he looks out the window. It adds insult to injury, as if there was some kind of higher power telling him _'How can you feel so unhappy, when the sun is shining and everything is fine out there?'_ Rationally, he knows that it must have something to do with the exams fast approaching in June but it has never been so bad.

He is fucking tired of being told _"Stop worrying about the future."_

It’s not something he does on purpose, and it’s always too late when he realizes that his mind drifted where it wasn't allowed to.  
Does Martino know how exhausting it is to persuade himself that his fears have no reason to exist?  
How dumb his inability to take things as they come, minute by minute, makes him feel?

Sooner or later, he will have to choose what to do with this life. Postponing the decision doesn’t make it disappear. It’s always there, at the back of his mind. With all its potential downfalls.  
He hasn’t even brought up the topic of moving to Milan, because he dreads both a positive (‘so you can’t wait for me to leave, uh?') and a negative reaction ('it’s my future we’re talking about, stop making it about you!’) from Marti.

He can’t see himself living in Rome for another year, but he can't be without Martino.  
That's absurd. It's not healthy to be so co-dependent on someone. He needs to learn how to survive without him. Besides, Martino deserves better than dating a nutjob that keeps on dragging him down, with his weird moods and paranoid fears of being abandoned. And it doesn't matter how many times he will tell Nico that he isn't going anywhere. Eventually, he will walk away. Niccolò will do something to fuck this up, like he always does.  
Martino will get tired of having to talk sense into him, of his love being doubted and put to test all the fucking time. Of fighting about money, of telling him that he can pay for himself and doesn’t need Niccolò to cover all his expenses.  
He will soon understand that they don’t have much in common, that they rarely listen to the same music or appreciate the same movies, books or tv shows. That they don’t even work that well as friends.

He should speed that process up a bit, for both their sakes. So he doesn’t let him in, when Martino comes knocking on his door. He tells him how shouldn't show up if Niccolò doesn't ask him to, instead - Maddalena used to do that, barging in his room whenever his mother called, not giving a damn if Nico didn't feel like meeting her.  
He can’t have Marti here, when he’s clearly not taking proper care of himself. Studying when he should be sleeping, eating too little, because babysitting Niccolò is a full time job.  
It makes everything worse.  
He hates that Martino turns down invitations from the boys just to spend time with him. Hates himself for letting that happen. 

"Why don't you just go? Get lost. Stop wasting your time with a depressed fuck like me, Marti! There’s nothing you can do…”

It's a low blow, and he knows it. He regret those words as soon as they are out of his mouth, but it’s too late to take them back. Those are the very same words Martino in that bathroom, all those months ago, when he talked about his own mother. They are like a slap to his face, but Marti still refuses to back down.

“I was wrong, and you know it. Nico, please. Don’t shut me out.”

And he wants to open the door and surrender to his soft touch, to break down in his arms. Put his mind to rest for a while. But he can’t be that selfish. 

“Go. I’m begging you, Marti. Leave.” He bites back his tears, holding tighter onto his pillow.

"As you wish." Martino chokes out, defeated, walking away. 

*********************

Martino is persistent, and stubborn.  
It's both a blessing and a curse.  
He's glad to know that he cares, that he won't give up on him when things get tough. That he can sense when Niccolò is self-sabotaging himself and he won't have any of that.  
It's a painful reminder of how little Nico is giving back, how he should be the better man and let Marti find someone who can hand him the world.  
He keeps trying to reach out to him, with a few 'hey, call me when you feel better' and a 'thinking about you <3' here and there, and Niccolò doesn't know what tell him to get him to just stop.

 _'I know you’re trying, but... you're not helping.'_ He texts back, resorting to half-truths.

It works, but it doesn’t take too long before he starts to regret it.  
It has been barely more than 24 hours since he last got a text from Martino, but it feels like a week.  
_'Well done, Niccolò. You drove him away. Mission accomplished.'_ He mutters to himself, throwing the phone against the wall so violently that its pieces go flying all over the room. 

***********************

Giovanni is the first to show up. He doesn’t ask about their fight, doesn’t even mention Martino.  
He sits in front of the door and starts making small talk, telling him about the last movie he has seen and the book he’s reading at the moment.

“I never thought I would like Nick Hornby, you know, but then Eva got _Slam_ for me, because you know, she figured it was about skateboarding… it isn’t, but that’s okay, it’s good… and I actually liked it so much I went looking for more. I bet you’d love _Juliet, naked_. It’s about music, but it’s nowhere as pretentious as _High Fidelity_ is. It’s a book against pretentiousness when it comes to art, really. I have it here, with me, if you want to give it a try.”

Niccolò doesn’t contribute much to the conversation, but Giovanni doesn’t seem to mind.  
He moves on to the latest news from school, about Luchino and how disappointed he was to find out there are plenty of girls crushing on Gio and Elia but none interested in him.

“Can you believe he handed out an anonymous survey?”

“Well. It’s Luca we’re talking about…” They both laugh at that, and Niccolò finally feels comfortable enough to ask if Martino asked him to come and check on him.

“No, zi’… He didn’t have to. I am here for you, is that so hard to believe?” Yes. Yes, it is. “And I’m not leaving until you read this and tell me what you think about this.” He waves his latest essay in front of the yellow tinted glass. He’s just about to try sliding it under the door, when Niccolò finally gives up and lets him in. 

“Wow, you look like haven't slept in a week.”  


“Thanks.” He looks up, only to feel crushed by the weight of Giovanni’s concerned glare. How can he be calm, so composed, when Niccolò just broke his best friend’s heart again? “Would you like some coffee, while I read this?”

It’s good. Nico doesn’t agree with half of the things he wrote, but Gio knows how to make a compelling argument and make him go ‘Okay, you have a point there.” His essay is informative, never patronizing or sounding like the same old propaganda. It’s hard to believe he didn’t get a 10 for it. _‘8 for overuse of semi-colons, inconsistencies in style and voice.’_  
Bullshit. Galante couldn’t give mark that essay with a 10 because he couldn’t stand to read opinions different from his own, couldn’t have students thinking they should pursue writing as a career only to end up like him, teaching Italian literature to a bunch of idiots who couldn’t tell the difference between a metaphor and a metonymy. 

“Ha! They keep telling me I’m projecting, that I’m the teacher’s pet but I knew you’d understand! He is lenient with those who can barely write down a coherent and grammatically correct thought, but God forbid if he actually acknowledges excellence! Not that I’m that good, but…” 

Hey, hey, hey. No self-deprecation allowed in this room, unless it’s coming from Niccolò himself.

“You are. I mean, I’m no literary critic but I think you’re great. This is great.”

“Says Mr. 9/10.”

“I’m no better than you, I just mastered the art of telling people what they want to hear.” 

“Ever thought about getting into politics?” 

*******************************

It’s Elia, next.  
He doesn’t even knock, just walks in to tell him that he’s gonna cook him something because he looks like death warmed over.  
It doesn’t matter if he’s not hungry, at the moment. He can save the food for later, and learn an invaluable life skill in the process. 

“I can’t believe you’re losing your shit over moving to Milan, in a couple of months. I mean, if you are afraid you’re not gonna survive due to your non-existent culinary abilities, which is understandable, I am here to help.” 

He isn’t bothered at all by Niccolò’s apparent lethargy and lack of focus, he shows him the ropes and then lets him take his time. He slaps his nape when he gets something wrong, but then he smiles at him and helps him fix his mistake. Encourages him to start all over from scratch, if needed.  
So what if it takes them hours to bake a quiche, to make an omelette or a tiramisu? It’s not like they’ve got better things to do.  
Elia talks much less than one would expect, content to spend an entire afternoon just giving out orders and tips to Nico. Fishing for some advice on how to improve his chances to get laid, by the time they are putting the tiramisu in the fridge.

“Take them somewhere romantic. Cook them a fancy meal. Show them that you never take them for granted and think about the two of you together whenever you are apart.” He has never been one for meaningless one-night stands, and it shows. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure that worked like magic with Martino.” Elia sighs, ruffling Nico’s hair. “But I’m not interested in making them fall in love with me… I’m trying to get into their pants, here, man.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, then.” He shrugs, grinning when Elia flops dramatically into the sofa and demands a FIFA match. If he assumes him to be worse than Luchino, at this game… Well, he’s in for quite the surprise.

“Well, of course. I don’t know what I expected from someone who can take their shirt off and have people falling over him.” 

“Maybe you could come to the gym with me, next time?”

 

***************************************

Luca storms into his room, with a bag full of junk food and a USB in his hand. 

“I don’t know what you’re into, so I’m just sharing my favourite ones…” Of course, he would come bringing porn as a gift.  
He’s got no filter, so he doesn’t shy away from a topic just because it would be inappropriate to ask Niccolò if he’s got a food kink – no, because there’s a lady on Twitter that could fit an apple in her ass and that got him wondering how does it feel… - and looks a bit disappointed when Nico moves on to another topic without giving him a proper answer.

It’s probably the first time he found someone willing to hear him out, because he can’t shut up for a second. Mooning over Slivia, moaning about his 4 in Physics - “I know you’re gonna tell me that being held back a year isn’t the end of the world, but… My mom is going to kill me, if I fail” – complaining about his little brother and the lack of a girlfriend.  
Niccolò finds it invigorating, to finally have a friend who’s like _‘I’m telling you how pathetic my life is and if you wanna share your woes you’re more than welcome to. If you don’t, I can talk for both of us. We’re not here to compare who’s got it worse.’_

When Niccolò think he’s done, that he’s run out of things to say… Luca recalls the last time his mother almost caught him and Martino smoking weed and he had to hand him the joint and hide him under his bed. Only for his mother to say _‘Say hi to Martino for me’_ before she left.

“Now she thinks I’m dating him, but that I feel too uncomfortable to come out and she’s dropping hints about how she wouldn’t love me or my brother any less if we were into boys… And I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth… But yeah, I’m glad you find this entertaining.” He huffs, but the smile on his lips tell a different story: he’s quite proud of himself, for making him laugh.

He’s the first not to tiptoe around Marti, to say be brave enough to say “You’re miserable. He’s miserable, so why don’t you both apologize to each other and get it over with?”

“It’s not that simple, Luchì.”

“Yes it is. Now give me your phone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was that simple, because Martino just want to see him smile. Those two needed to understand that they aren't alone in this, that they boy squad has got both their backs, and hopefully after this trying week they will...


	9. Giovani Illuminati

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got this prompt on Tumblr ages ago "I hink it would be funny to read something about The Boy Squad and Niccolò playing truth or dare, spin the bottle or something like that. And another one: Marti trying to hide his hickeys from The boys, because Niccolò simply loves his neck" and I wanted to give some of the vibes of the parties I've been to (people having fun in really silly ways and then crashing on the nearest flat surface at the end of the night)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vaguely Elippo, like "blink and you'll miss it", I guess...

Nobody thought Martino could actually pull this off.  


_‘You’ve got the worst poker face in the world, zì.’_ Giovanni reminded him, sure that Niccolò would know something was up as soon as he opened the door. That might be true, but Gio was definitely underestimating how good his best friend could be at sidetracking Nico. He wouldn’t even remember his own name, once he was done with him…

 _‘If you manage not to give it away tonight, and that’s a big if… you want me to believe that you’re gonna tell him that you’re busy and that you really can’t stay, when morning comes?’_ Elia rolled his eyes, disbelief written all over his face. The plan could work, because it wasn’t something you’d ever expect from Martino… but it was hard to imagine this boy would really let Niccolò spend most of the next day alone.

 _‘Aren’t you gonna feel guilty about keep a secret from him?_ ’ Luca asked, genuinely surprised by this new – stealthy – side of Martino. _‘I feel bad already… so maybe you better text me the details at the last minute. I can’t promise I won’t say something I shouldn’t, if he asks me…’_

Yeah, he had taken that into account.  
Maybe he should have told Luchino that there wasn’t anything to feel sorry, or guilty, about. That as soon as Ni would find the first clue inside the ukulele, he’d know he has been sent on a treasure hunt.  
He wouldn’t really care that asking for help from his friends could be considered cheating – let it be known that he still is the Greatest Fucking Cheater Ever Existed – but he’d try not to involve them just because it’s **their** game…  
  
Marti should have told Luchino, sure. But it implied talking about the handwritten notes, the flipbook, the antidote, the giraffes… About things that he didn’t feel like to share that with anyone, because they were just **theirs**.  
  
Contrary to everybody’s expectations, indeed, Martino managed to surprise Niccolò.  
He had him running and cycling all over the city – including their school terrace, were Chicco Rodi and Rocco Martucci were waiting for him – to collect clues on where to find him… Which ended up being the most obvious place, if only Niccolò had taken a moment to stop and think: in that same swimming pool where they first kissed, without any Renato to interrupt them now.  
  
He let him think that they were going home to make up for lost time, alone… And then got a bit frantic when Niccolò turned on the light and looked at him and then at their friends, like he couldn’t believe his eyes…  
Was it too much? Was he overwhelmed?

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!”Trust Luchì to break the ice and hug Niccolò so tight that he couldn’t help but hug him back and start laughing.

Silvia came to the rescue, handing out slices of cake to everyone. It was barely more edible than the one she had prepared for the first meeting at Radio Osvaldo but he ate it with such gusto that one would think it was the best thing he had ever tasted.  


He was gifted with pictures and embarrassing stories of his boyfriend’s first year in high school by Eva, shared travelling tips with Eleonora and went off on a rant about the upcoming maturità with Edoardo and Federico. If there was one good thing that came out from Covitti being a jerk, in the end, it was that it showed Incanti and Canegallo could be pretty decent people. Who wouldn’t side with the homophobic asshole out of fear of being called gay themselves, as most other boys at school seemed to do.

Who would break a bottle on someone’s head, if it came down to it, before their friend could be seriously harmed.

He discussed about some stickers and pins he had designed for Pride this year with Filippo, and explained to a very intrigued Luchino what pansexuality was with Sava’s help.

They were both very kind and patient and answered each one of his inappropriate questions, and Filippo even went far as shutting down Martino’s groans when Luca said “So, bi and pans do have something in common: they could both pass off as straight if they wanted, right?” with a “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Uh?”  
“I mean… I remember you thinking being ace was equal to being celibate, until what… Last week? Didn’t you say they were ‘straight-passing’ too, Rose?”  
“I’m still learning, okay?” Martino mumbled, pouting. Both Niccolò and Filippo were older than him, so of course they knew more about this stuff!

“We know you are.” Niccolò conceded, walking over to his boyfriend to kiss him on the lips. “So am I. So is Filippo. So is everyone here in my house, today.”  
“What they’re saying is just that we can all learn something from each other, Marti! That’s why I like to ask questions, you know? I like to learn…”  
“Yeah, but it’s not their responsibility to educate you, Luchì.” Elia butted in, getting an impressed look from Filippo – not that he gave a damn about that, not in slightest. “I hate to be the one who breaks the news to you, bro, but the Internet is for more than just porn.”

Sana cornered him in the kitchen, half an hour later, to stress that they all agreed his house was the best place to have this party because he could kick them all out whenever he pleased.

“You didn’t ask for this, and you shouldn’t feel like you have to entertain your guests, you know?” She casted a glance to their friends, who were now in the middle of a ridiculous game Federica had suggested. “Don’t let us overstay our welcome, okay?” 

So he doesn’t. It’s like being aware that he has a way out, that he can call this off whenever he wants - and they won’t hold it against him, they won’t be thinking “What’s got into Fares, now? – is enough to put his mind at ease. Having Martino by his side, soothing his nerves and grounding him with the lightest of touches upon his shoulders, helps a lot too. 

As the birthday boy he also gets to have the last word on the party games, vetoing strip poker and spin-the-bottle. They were fun when he had been in middle school, and he can still hear his old friends cheering when the bottle pointed to the girl he had been crushing on for weeks – he can’t even remember her name, now, how pathetic is that? – but a trip down the memory lane is the last thing he needs, tonight.

“Truth or dare?” Eva suggests, as both Giovanni and Martino roll their eyes.  
They would rather be humiliated at another round of beer pong against her and Silvia, than play that.

“Maybe later.” He says, laughing at the ‘yes, please’ looks from the girls and the ‘thanks, but no thanks’ glares from the boys. “I’m not drunk enough for that yet…” 

It’s nice of Martino not to freak out, turning the suggestion down on his behalf because it would be too ‘dangerous’ (dares do tend to escalate quickly, when he is involved). It’s such a welcome change that he wants to savor it, honor it by throwing in his own proposal.

“What about ‘Never have I ever?’”  
A drinking game that favors the youngest and most inexperienced among them, doesn’t force anyone to embarrass themselves – they set the ground rule that not drinking doesn’t necessarily mean you never did what has just been mentioned, but that you don’t feel letting people know anything about it.  
  
It was either that or demanding his guests not to get too personal, which can’t really be expected when some are already so inebriated that they are having giggle fits playing peek-a-boo with each other (and Edoardo and Eleonora have no right to make such a silly picture look so endearing, haven’t they?). 

The first rounds are rather tame. No one has ever been to Japan, apart from the Savas. No one ever tried to eat insects, apart from Luchino. Some admit to stealing candies when they were younger, some others reveal they went skinny dipping after seeing it on TV. It doesn’t feel as thrilling or liberating as TV shows made it look, though.  
Sana plays dirty by asking about porn, to which everybody has to take a drink. 

“Never have I ever had sex with a girl.” Luca says, knowing that for once he’ll get the upper hand on half of the Contrabbandieri and the boys from Villa. Well, isn’t this interesting.  
  
Fede, Sana and Eva do not drink but Eleonora does. She grins at her brother, who looks at her with such fondness that Niccolò almost feel like he’s intruding.  
Elia is pondering whether to drink or not, but in the end he surprises everyone by leaving it untouched.  
Before anyone else can react to that, however, Martino grabs his beer and chugs it down.

“What? When?” Giovanni sounds more outraged than Niccolò could ever bring himself to be. He doesn’t really mind what Martino did in the past, he’d rather revel in the fact that he chose to be with him in the present.  
Gio immediately backtracks, when he notices that Marti is still staring at the bottom of his glass.  
‘Sex’ is a broad definition, indeed, and who is he to say ‘no, if it isn’t penetrative it doesn’t count’ ?

“I’m sorry. Forget I even asked, it’s none of my business.” He drinks one more of his shots, saying that it’s his penalty for breaking the rules. “We did agree that we shouldn’t ask questions about why is drinking or not, didn’t we? My bad.” He shrugs, as Martino mouths an ‘Apologies accepted thanks.’ 

“Never have I ever kissed a boy.” Sana admits, diverting the attention to herself.  
Elia and Gio drink at the same time, and then rush to say “No! It wasn’t him! Ew, he’s like a brother to me!”  
The more they deny it, the less they sound believable, so they just drop it and look at Niccolò expectantly.

“Never have I ever used make up to hide hickeys.” He says, proudly, earning a punch in the shoulder from his boyfriend. Who is now down to 3 beers, not quite being the ‘boring gay’ most assume him to be. 

“That’s because I’m considerate enough not to leave you looking like you were mauled or something.” Martino mumbles, ignoring the knowing smirks from his friends. They were well aware of how much Niccolò liked his neck, and hadn’t been fooled by the disappearance of scarves and turtlenecks. 

“I wouldn’t mind if you did. I love when you claim me as yours.” Niccolò whispers, brushing his nose against Martino’s and then nuzzling his cheek.  
“You do?” It’s just the two of them in the room, now, as he cups Nico’s face in both his hands and sighs contentedly when the other boy nods and kisses his fingers.

“Guys! Please! Either stop it or get a room!” Someone hollers, breaking the spell. 

“Never have I ever eaten ass.” Filippo states, just to see everyone squirm. It’s way too personal, too intimate, for anyone to dare and drink. 

“Hey! No cheating!” Elia complains, getting up to point his finger right into Filippo’s chest. “You are a cheat and a liar. You’re out. And so am I, ‘cause this is getting old and boring and if we don’t get out soon those two will start fucking in front of our eyes.” 

“And you know he’s lying because…?” Eva insists, intrigued by this new turn of events.  
  
“TOO MUCH INFORMATION, GUYS!!” Giovanni shakes his head, covering his ears. “If we’re playing truth or dare, now, please leave those things where they belong. In the bedroom.”

“Getting a taste of your own medicine, Gio?” Nice to know that not even a heavy make out session with Niccolò would stop Martino from passing up the opportunity to tease him. “That’s fine by me. I’ve heard more than I ever asked for, already. Things I’d rather forget, thank you.” And if Elia wants to come clean about being with Filippo, it shouldn’t happen through a stupid party game. 

Niccolò dares most people to eat what he cooked, of course.  
Luca dares him to see who can fold himself faster into the biggest suitcase he owns – and loses, but he beams when Silvia kisses his cheek and tells him that he just needs to work on his flexibility, but that it was a valiant attempt nonetheless.  
Edoardo goes for ‘truth’, of course, knowing that Ele would love that. It would be easy to take advantage of it by asking what if he ever felt ashamed of himself, or to whether or not he ever fell in love before meeting Eleonora. They are all better than that, after all they’ve been through. 

“What’s the most idiotic thing you ever spent your money on?”  
“Marco’s eighteenth?”  
“How can you say that when you’ve got a horse?” Federico reminds him, slapping his neck.  
“Hey, I happen to like horse riding. You know that. I’d rather spend a thousand euros on Furia than 10 on Covitti. What about you, Nico?”

“Louboutins.” It didn’t feel stupid, at the time. When she got those shoes, though, she told him he was crazy to waste so much money on shoes. She did appreciate the gesture, but it was imperative that he returned them as soon as possible.  
He doesn’t quite know how Martino would react if he got him an expensive gift. Better than Maddalena, that’s for sure, but… Well, there’s no point in speculating: he’s gonna find out in July, when they’ll leave for their romantic getaway in Paris, isn’t he?

Martino dodges dares for a while, going for ‘truth’ even when it means confessing that:  
a) Nico and him aren’t big on pet names (“Have you ever heard yourself when you start going ‘oh, you idiot’ ‘shut up, jerk’ ‘you wish, asshole’ ‘wanna a piece of this, wanker‘ ‘you know I do, dickhead’?” Giovanni points out “ ‘cause you ‘insults’ are totally pet names, guys)  
b) he had a crush on Gio, though it never compared to what he feels for Niccolò – “you’re giving us all cavities, Marti, have you got no shame?”.  
Eventually, though, those fuckers get him to sing a duet with Nico. Of course they choose _Vattene Amore_ and sing along when they get to the _‘ci chiederemo come mai il mondo sa tutto di noi… magari ti chiamerò trottolino amoroso e dudu-dadadà e il tuo nome sarà il nome di ogni città…’_ part, filming everything with their smartphones.

By the end of the night, no one is sober enough to walk home. Let alone drive.  
The girls set up a blanket fort in the living room, claiming that they cannot kick Niccolò out of his bed and wouldn’t feel comfortable sleeping in his parents’ bed. He argues that they are gonna regret that in the morning, when their back is gonna remind them why it’s not a good idea to doze off on the floor.

Edoardo and his friends insist that they can run on caffeine alone and they are more than happy to crash on a chair. Whatever.

Niccolò is too high on the love he got from everyone tonight, to care about logistics.  
So what if he has to share his bed with four other guys. Who cares if they constantly complain that he’s bony, that he snores and has got cold feet – “seriously, Marti, now I get why you're always so tired on Mondays…” Luchino whines, trying to smother himself with a pillow and put an end to his misery “how can anyone get any rest, with _him_ in their bed?” – or if it’s such a tight fit that they all have to lay on their sides and nobody has got room to turn in their sleep?

It’s still the best birthday he ever got.


End file.
